


Me & You, We're Taylor Two

by TechnicolourRomantics



Series: Taylor Two, Together [1]
Category: Duran Duran
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Home, Intimacy, M/M, Reunions, Teasing, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:42:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24979354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TechnicolourRomantics/pseuds/TechnicolourRomantics
Summary: Restrictions eased, for the final time. Love ensues.
Relationships: John Taylor/Roger Taylor (Duran Duran)
Series: Taylor Two, Together [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1958464
Comments: 8
Kudos: 8





	Me & You, We're Taylor Two

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pink_and_Velvet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pink_and_Velvet/gifts).



> It's finally here! 🥰🧡 After having dreamt up this lil "rhythm boys in 2020" verse, I knew I had to write this out. 
> 
> Lots of the world is very much in turmoil right now, and I hope this story helps to keep the hope for the better times ahead alive in us. 💖
> 
> And regarding the hype, Tash your lovely cheerleader self kept me so excited for this and I hope you'll love these two in this! Thank you for just one of the oodles of rhythm section worlds we've made.
> 
> Nuff' said, time to read! Enjoy 💙

**_Post lock-down, 2020_ **

**_UK_ **

It tickled him, how the window rattled, so unlike the countless music videos with angsty youth lost deep in thought while their heads nuzzled the glass. Extra points for a dramatic filter or raindrops making their path down. 

He lifted his head from the glass, dipping back out of the momentary cinema and back into the whirr of the bus engine, the reality. Though he felt it could hardly be called so.

Surely reality wasn’t where the sun was chasing him down through the tinted glass of an empty bus, warming the fabric on the soft blue bandana that tried to contain the newly burgundy mop on his head, ornate knotting skills and all. 

Surely it wasn’t his hand wrapping around the metal pole beside his arm with its seeping cold, finger ready to push the button for the next stop. 

Surely reality wasn’t hopping off the bus with a quick step in his gangly legs and walking his sneakered feet along the route long memorised. 

But it was. 

As a man, still very much a boy, of 20, he nearly stumbled right out onto the road as his heart catapaulted at the mere thought of what was about to happen. Throw up? Melt? Vaporise? What really was suitable preparation for a coming moment like this? 

It struck him then, feet tripping giddily along the footpath, dodging the cracks out of sheer habit and slight superstition, that this really was it. 

No wait, that didn't sound right.

This wasn't _it_ , this was the reprise, the continuation. This was him, this was him, this was him.

This was all about the _him_ that completed himself.

_Oh, he’d see him again!_

It left him warm, along with the sun spreading out its caressing rays up his back.

It was the first time in months, where he had really noticed that the sun was shining. 

With a near left turn at the wrong street, he shoved his mind back to where he was going, patting down his pockets in an inventory check. 

Phone, wallet, the usual.

But most especially, the little square something he had hastily shoved into his back pocket before he left the house. 

“Don’t be too late!” his parents had called on his way out, “don’t wander anywhere crowded!”

_Sorry mum!_ He smirked with the apology in advance, feeling the outline of the little foil packet at the back of his jeans. 

With that, an overnight stay was much in order. 

And she had had little to worry about - the only wandering he intended to do was round the expanse of a favourite, muscled, inviting body ahead of that overnight stay.

_Just one more corner..._

_Reached the street._

_Oh, god._ He admittedly shook as he turned the corner onto the final street, beating heart ready to fly out his chest and back again.

_Oh my fucking god._

There he was, standing on the footpath.

In real life, in flesh and bone, not an array of joined pixels. 

_Roger Andrew Taylor._

_Oh my god._

“ _ROGER!!!!”_ he screamed wildly, uncaring of who would hear him on the deserted street as those arms started to extend. 

_Best friend._

He ran faster, nearing the figure that stood while another holding a bicycle watched the spectacle, laughing. 

_Boyfriend._

He threw himself into those strong arms - though hardly necessary for his scrawny build - which cradled him, and lifted him.

_...lifted him?!_

He gasped, uncontainable joy sparking in him at being whirled around, bridal-style. John pulled the other man’s face in his arms and dove in for a kiss. 

Those lips, he was flying, up, up, and away, those strong lips fitted right with his, breathless when they pulled apart. 

John touched his own absently, overjoyed at the warmth there, flaring up above their heads, to the clear sky, as they dove in for more. And more.

Their eyes locked and stayed, so entranced in each other that John hardly registered that he had been lifted down and Roger had let out a willowy “I missed you”.

"Oh, Roger." he sighed against the shorter man's hair as they embraced.

They stayed there, stealing consuming kiss after kiss, until a loud clear of a throat startled them from their bubble, pulling away to see Steve looking at them with an awkward well-wishing.

" ‘ello John, long time no see!" he gave a small wave to which John promptly waved back, "It’s brilliant you that guys can be together again, but man, married couple things _inside_ please,” he gagged jokingly.

“...and for the good of my innocent eyes, I'm going off for a bit, see you later Rog." 

“Innocent, my ass," Roger muttered, amused, "Sure.” he poked his tongue out at the back of his brother’s head.

John watched as he cycled off, letting out a squeak of surprise as he was gently lifted up again, lips back on him. 

_Married couple things_ , the phrase flip-flopped in his head as he was led up the stairs, and through the open door.

The threshold.

It was good to be home. 

  
  
  


Home - where they were pigging on ordered pizza, sharing a toasty slice or two with their legs tangled up with each other on the sofa.

And sharing a little candied something that Roger’s mum made to soothe her wild concerns over their attitude toward her baked treats. 

It was mighty delicious anyway.

All felt right, with the many “I miss you’s” they felt apt to drop randomly in conversation and all over each other’s necks, as well as Roger’s fascination with the makeup John found solace in experimenting with during the isolation period. 

It had set the mood the previous night especially. After having sent pictures to Rog of the makeup he had been playing around with, it was really much to take. 

Naturally chiselled features enhanced further by the streaks of glitter, liner sculpted to kill and crimson painted lips seemingly awaiting the feel of his.

Precision and sharpness laid its tantalising hand on everything. 

He was downright stunning, and how it teased Roger. Got his gears rolling, so to speak.

Of course, a mutual call session was the next event in the proceedings. 

And in said call, the panted mantra of ' _one more night...'_ streamed out of their lips as they surrendered to their tugging hands and wrecked voices, imagining it was the other’s touch.

Much appreciated.

Calls at ungodly hours of the night too made for sleep-deprived humour, they recalled as they reclined further into Roger’s favourite spot on the plush.

_“I’m in, you know, Hollywood.”_ a 3 AM Roger back in May had once stared at John in his bright screen toward the ceiling and mulled over. _  
  
_

_“No you’re not.” That's where_ I _am._ _  
  
_

_“I’m not?”_ he had smacked his head hard, puzzled and obviously en route to delirium, to the both slight concern and mirth of the man on the other side, _“Then, where am I?”_

_“Castle Bromwich.”_ The man let out a sleepy nod.

There wasn’t much of a coherent conversation after that. 

“You were right in that conversation, actually.” he flushed at the memory. 

“I know.” John chose this moment to run his hand through the red mop and readjust the bandana, tilting his head and affording Roger a darting dreamboat smile, who responded in kind.

_Man, they were a pretty pair._

“You smoothie.”

“Yeah ‘cos my milkshake surely seems to bring _you_ to the yard. Geddit, smoothie, milkshake, eh?” he shimmied his shoulders toward Roger, who didn’t know whether to kiss that idiotic grin off his face or to thump him.

“No mate please, that’s fucking old. Just eat the damn pizza.” he tried hard not to laugh.

_Oh, Johnny…_ _you’re so lucky you’re attractive._ He facepalmed inside. 

“Awh, where’s the love?” Roger shook his head minutely at the distressed doe eyes. _Right here, you adorable idiot._

Strings of the cheesy pizza later hung off their lips while they polished off the slices like piranhas, poring over the ideas of activities they’d found for later on when it was safe - “checking out some hot, hot wheels on race weekend?” “I’ll pass” - or music they listened to - “found this record from a few years back. _Paper Gods._ ” “Cool name, who’s it by?” “Uh, I forgot.” “ _Johnnn."_ \- or John’s many failed attempts at baking and gardening.

Dead oven or dead plant, it was either one of the two. 

Though, he had found the time and care to plant a beach succulent given to him from his father’s plant array, amidst the large volume of online comics he’d spent his time reading. 

“So, one succulent, huh?” 

“Yeah, it’s alive!” he swallowed a clump of cheese and flashed a proud grin, “I named it Roger.” 

“You named your… houseplant Roger?” He tried to be sceptical but he really couldn’t fight the soft tingle that buzzed it's happy way through, tangling his free hand in John’s a little tighter.

“Yep!” John brought their linked hands up to place a soft kiss, smiling again wider and narrowing his eyes impishly, “and it’s swelled wonderfully, just like you do.” 

Roger nearly choked on his margherita slice and snorted, familiar red spreading across his cheeks at John’s shift in tone, and his body’s shift closer on the sofa. 

“Cheeky bastard!” He pushed his smile into John’s neck, going warm himself as his thoughts turned to what had unfolded throughout their time apart. 

“You’re going all hot. What’re you thinking about in that little dirty mind of yours?”

“It’s _you_ who’s the dirty one!” he waggled a finger at the other man’s face with his own still nestled in his neck. John moved to bite it, eliciting a hiccuped laugh, “see what I mean?” 

“But c’mon Roger, tell me.”

“Skype.”

“Ohh. The lovely land of Skype, eh?”

“Mhm,” Roger raised his head up, content at the fingers that had taken to rubbing his shoulder. 

“You liked seeing me get off, didn’t you?”

“ _Fuck_ yeah.” John giggled naughtily at the younger man’s enthusiasm before they drew close again to lose themselves in another kiss.

Of course they had enjoyed those Skype calls.

Moments they had spent very much together. Things they had partaken in ever so mutually. 

Shows they had put on for each other’s hungry eyes on video call, simply unable to resist their need for one another. 

Broadcast cut short one or twice, by the _thud_ of a phone slipped through shaking fingers and the indulgent sound of release. 

Thank stars, the walls were thick, and Roger’s room was right at the back of the house, near the garden, worlds away from everyone else’s.

Free reign for him to let out and let rip, in that private way only John witnessed, and fuelled. 

Of course, now, they had been left alone again, such as often was the case when John - Roger’s “giant redhead boy” according to his mum - came round, for the sake of their sanity and a good humoured tease. 

Jean and Hugh were no doubt at some stage of the snaking queue at Aldi, and Steve had fled off to visit his own girl. 

“I’d rather see her than you try to eat each other’s faces.” He huffed, swatting John with playful anger on the shoulder that had Roger shoot him death glare. 

Of course, the Taylors in all seriousness adored John, treating him to things even Roger would miss out on - “another piece of the lasagne, John?” “Share it, John?” “Nu-uh!” - and often welcomed him in as one of their own. Even the last name aligned perfectly. 

Roger Taylor for John Taylor. 

They might as well have been brothers. Though, that would have been a bit of a problem.

_Married_ , was loads better. A fantasy so enticing and fuzzy for their young love. They liked that thought.

  
  
  


They remained talking and cuddling on the sofa as the sunset came, parents having come back awhile before, when a click in the lock and figure strolled jauntily down the hall.

“Looking happier than usual. Had a good visit?” Roger called, not missing the sprightly step and optimism in his brother that mirrored his own.

“Anyone’d be looking happier today, Rog. But yeah, decent.”

“Or not very, rather.” Roger smirked.

“You’re one to talk! You’ve been at it this whole time haven’t you, we'll need to reupholster the sofa.” 

“That’s jumping ahead a little, mate.” John chimed in, before they burst out laughing, Steve coughing heavily into his arm. 

"TMI, man, TMI." John grinned.

"Was the casserole all good, Nige- oh pardon me, John?" Jean's motherly voice drifted out from the kitchen area. The name change of his late teens still took a bit of getting used to. 

He planted a kiss at Roger's cheek before dashing toward the kitchen.

"Lovely, stupendous, marvelous, every cook's dream. _Magnifique!_ " he gestured enthusiastically with the badly French- accented spiel, sending Jean beaming with pride.

"Come along, I'm not letting you sit there without dinner. Have some roast!" he ran at the opportunity for another Taylor meal, seating themselves all around the table sans Roger, who stayed sprawled on the sofa, taking in John's interaction with his family before him.

It was a picture perfect scene: John rushing for more roast while Steve blatantly judged him to his parents' dismay, the scraps of conversation about caring for succulents that John was excitedly engaged in with his dad, and the makeup related tangent they veered off on when Steve mentioned that John's lipstick shade bore a striking similarity to his girlfriend's.

The overwhelming domesticity of it all sent his heart shooting, and a rush of blood, adrenaline and intense adulation moving in waves throughout his whole body. To the extent that he sensed a tad randiness sliding through as his vision honed in on his 'giant redhead boy' making his way back toward him on the sofa.

Arms slotting together as John snuggled back down beside him, Roger blushed lightly, shifting a little to cover his excitement as he lifted his head pepper the other man's neck with mellow kisses.

_I love you so much._

John squirmed from the attention his normally reserved man was giving him, moving excitedly to intertwine their legs again.

_Cutie!_

However subtle Roger tried to be though, it was plain that his actions hadn’t gone unnoticed by the other occupants of the living room when he stole a glance up and saw the half-jesting crinkle of their noses both his parents afforded him.

Then came the look so parental, yet embarrassing to be given, that went, 

_Get a room._

And scarlet _he_ went. 

“Aw, you’re blushing!” he felt a finger teasingly poking his shoulder, being of no help whatsoever.  
  


_John!_

“Get a room!” Steve voiced out the public opinion, stalking toward them on the couch, who stared curiously as he lifted his finger,

"and please, please, be quieter about it. Quieter than you were on Skype anyway." 

"Huh?" they both opened and closed their mouths like fish. _He knew?!_

"I can recognise that Skype ring-in tone from anywhere and unfortunately, I can now recognise you guys anywhere as well." he rubbed his head, "Think I'll need to wash my bloody ears out."

"Just shut your ears, then." 

"Well you first stop being _loud."_

"Yessir!" John jumped with a dramatic salute to save his boyfriend from dying inside any further.

Their eyes conversed.

_Thank you, actually, John._

_No problem. Love you!_

Grilling complete, Steve shielded his view exaggeratedly as he pranced off to his own room, closing the door.

Roger rolled his own amidst his blush. 

_Damn you!_

That man could also be a dick sometimes. _All the time, really._

But nevertheless, he did give good advice.

And so stumbling along as nonchalantly as possible along the hallway, fighting to stay decent, they did get a room.

  
  
  


Their lips touched instantaneously with the close and click of the door. 

No one would dare open the door anyway, but old habits died hard, especially ones taken up with the long ago, with teenage emergence of an eager male mind, sated by an eager male hand. 

John’s lips parted, pulling Roger in to tiptoe up higher and dart his tongue through taste further in true greeting fashion, a hello they had ached to say for months on end. 

_Finally._

Taking step by step toward the bed, John could feel those fingers tugging needily into his hair in counterpoint to the energy that fizzled off their kiss. They sunk hard into the velvety red that fell into his eyes. 

The bandana had long been discarded. 

Tongues dancing in a rhythm, they searched and searched deep, giving their all to savour the warmth so thickly stirred between them and left out to drown them in its addicting taste. 

Roger could not help but smirked against his mouth as John heaved them down toward his own sheets. 

He held the older boy’s chin tightly in his hands as they lay to their sides, with each press and grip speaking the dam of need ready to burst its flowing banks.

Heat he could feel radiating into his arms from the skin underneath the cotton shirt only made it stronger. 

“Off.” the whispered demand crept to John’s ear with an accompanying hard tug on the shirt, leaving him in a shiver while his hands complied, aided along by Roger’s own, who made sure to graze his skin with his nails, setting it alight as the shirt was lobbed out of view. 

“Your turn.” Roger eagerly worked off his own, second pair of thin hands touching gratuitously at the delectable chest he uncovered. 

Trousers tugged slowly down their legs. 

Another pair tugged down. 

Boxers on for now. Just for kicks.

Thighs bared, they tangled their bodies together. The beauty of reacquaintance stoked their bodily fire as John daringly slipped his fingertips along Roger’s inner thigh with a dark smile, relishing the small crack in the other man’s breath as he did it once more. 

Re-acquaintance - feeling those warm shoulder blades underneath seeking fingers, glowing iron hot as they dipped and curved to the notches toward his hips. 

They threatened to unravel from touch and feel alone. 

Roger felt John everywhere, the mussed, tall creature capturing him with his lipstick and liner smeared, faint, sweat-drenched red glitter sticking to his skin. And in reply, John felt the solid, toned muscle in his arms, stomach, everywhere.

John’s gaze travelled down, consuming the sea of tan just for his eyes, slightly lighter than usual from the time indoors, but still the ever luscious golden brown that complemented against his scrawny, pale body.

His basking morphed into a view of the ceiling when he was pushed down, smirking, and Roger started to move.

Downward. 

He could all but groan softly as Roger’s mouth marked it way down his neck. The quiet, guttural call grew in the intensity of anticipation when he slowly slid down further, skilled lips and tongue paying John’s chest special attention.

Familiar territory, lather that pressure point and extract that sweet, sweet moan.

The sweat and skin under Roger's tongue played aggressor, spurring him on, and down. John could all but skim his arms across his back mindlessly, fighting to stay silent when all that came out was hoarse. 

A prized visit along the way, with a small tweak of the nipples between his swiping teeth in alternation, and it really wasn’t so quiet anymore. 

His eyes slipped, lidded, when he sensed those fingers gently hooking onto the waistband of his boxers, slowly sliding them down and leaving him to spring free in the humid air of the summer’s night. 

John felt so cold as Roger's touch left his skin, hips lifting momentarily as the younger man too shed the last of his clothing, leaving John's eyes to graze and the excitement to stir, deep inside him. 

He missed it, seeing that largeness, pure betrayal of Roger's excitement, just for him. 

He quickly warmed up again when they caught each other’s gaze, John stared as Roger lowered his head, hands travelling of their own accord to guide him down.

But when it seemed that he almost reached his destination, the other man bounced up back suddenly, swallowing his moan of protest as their swollen lips moulded together.

"You- you tease..." John's words were but a harsh whisper as they broke apart, desperation adorning each syllable. 

“C’mere, you.”

His breath and flying trains of thought stopped short then, groaning softly as the other man rolled fully atop him, his compact body stretching out to blanket John with a blazing, dripping warmth. 

"I missed you on top." the final syllable of his profession trailed off as their eyes locked, retinas and lust flashing bright.

"I missed you," a wordless shift of their roaming lips and eyes, twinkling, "underneath." 

Amidst the space between them held up by Roger's arms and straddling his legs, John reached up, stroking the other man’s length lightly, enjoying the small, controlled shudder that rippled out from above. 

“Gorgeous.” he smirked as he did it again, willing that body down on him. 

“Not yet,” Roger smirked, retaliating with some teasing, kitten-like strokes that left John throaty, increasing intensity and revelling at the increased hitches in reply, “not too loud, Johnny.”

John glared, frustrated, as if to yell, _how the hell?!,_ head flopping mindlessly to his side as the pleasure grew. His hands incessantly slid across the back above him, pleading intimacy in their raking touch. 

An amused smile spread through Roger's face, though he couldn’t deny the heat swirling in himself. He brought his body down, sending them into a maddened tizzy at the contact of dripping skin. Viscous, choking passion flooded through them as their pleasure points slid together. 

Greeting one another - conjuring groans, flame, stars being set alight. 

So slick, so hard, and oh, so good. 

They manoeuvred themselves, careful not to crush each other as Roger brought his hand down between them. A jolt shot through John at the firm grip around him, reacting in tandem as even more sparks branded their skins. He was at Roger's mercy, moaning hard as the rhythm began to speed and slow. 

John just about broke down whenever Roger shifted to touch himself at moments, tongue licking his lips as the man heaved and orchestrated his own pleasure before he went back to working him.

But sentences became phrases, phrases became syllables, and syllables became grunts with the grip of John’s needy hand along his sides.

The torture continued, hand manipulating him as it slid to press softly at the head, leaving him in something akin to floating off, intelligible moans emitted as he drifted away.

“Roger.” he fought for calm, “Close.” 

Pleasure consumed him seconds after, letting go loudly, eyelids affording him a pulsating view of outer space as his warmth spilt all over them, scrawled over their skin.

He stopped for his breath, momentarily dizzied.

“That,” John gulped, running through his hand through his damp hair, glittered now, “was wicked, you devil.”

Though he nodded in response, the casual smirk slid back onto Roger’s lips, nonchalantly screaming that play was far from its end. 

Sensations running high, they could hardly catch their breath. They had pined, waited and desired the human touch. Burning and ever so real, it now simmered between them.

Sex over a video screen really couldn’t compare. 

And it really wouldn't compare to what came next. 

Them, of course.

Having caught his breath, John pulled him down hurriedly, enacting sighs from both of them as their overheated bodies pressed flush up against each other once more, scooting up to mouth at Roger's collarbone.

"You know what'd _really_ be wicked, though," he continued teething and swirling his tongue sharply against the skin, giving the overwhelmed man above him no freedom to reply,

"is if you fucked me." 

He smiled and sucked hard, intent on leaving a love bite as Roger bit back a groan. Lovely reddish marking painted there. _He’s mine,_ it spoke.

"As if," the man above ground out huskily between pants, "I was going to do anything else." 

"I _could_ fuck _you_."

Roger nearly short circuited at the swimming image of John thrusting into him before he smiled lazily and shook his head, "it's alright. Tonight, I just wanna do what I’ve wanted to do for so long. You." 

"That's fair." he half-laughed, half-moaned as Roger caressed the creamy skin of his thigh, still glistening under the lamplight from his release.

Their eyes lingered on each other before Roger raised himself up, “I'll get the stuff," he crawled off to open and reach for the bottom of his dresser drawer.

"Wait!" Roger turned to John curiously, "You'll only need the lube. Check out my back pocket, the jeans. Stuffed it in there last minute." 

"Oh, did you? Thanks." he held the condom square up triumphantly with a grin and a _swoosh_ , making John laugh, albeit a little cracked.

"You're very much welcome." he smiled at the view he got while Roger rummaged through his own drawer. 

"Well actually, lucky you did, since I seem to be out."

He retreated back up with a bottle in hand but an empty box in another.

"Oh, what would you do without me?" he sang, eyes transfixed on Roger lathering up his fingers and crawling back up toward him.

"Bloody enabler."

"Damn right!" John smirked smugly in agreement back at him, before he melted at the finger that Roger plunged in.

A tingling familiarity washed over his soul at those skillful fingers, trembling as they swirled and made their spreading home in him, where they belonged.

The man could hardly breathe when one more, then later two were added. An aching, burning stretch that battled against the sweetness of the intrusion that pleasured him from within.

John's toes curled in anticipation as the other man prepared him, firm and steady, until he quivered, longer able to take it.

"Now, Rog. _Now._ " he tugged impatiently, ready to riot if he didn’t feel Roger that exact second. 

The other man grabbed the packet in similar haste, eyeing the want that clouded John's vision, while he ripped the foil and settled it on himself. 

A strong grip on the back of John's thighs for good measure they fell into place on the bed.

Positioning himself, they steadied their shaking arms, Roger nudged into John, pressing in and coaxed further in by the hiss he let out after he adjusted to the size, moving to meet him. 

The connection blazed, the warmth of being inside erupting between them. John stilled his hips for a second, losing himself breathlessly in how he sheathed Roger with his body. 

So full, warm, and right. 

Roger experimentally flicked his hips, moaning roughly as the crashing wave of heat scissored outward from their connected centre. John nearly hollered.

It all came back in full force as they started to move. 

Back into their jiving step, their longtime dance, lengthy legs wrapped tautly around Roger’s back in their shared routine while he savoured John under his roving hands.

Each pushed up, and down into the other man, the only thing they sought for while all else in the world around them faded into a scintillating blur.

Never ever want to come out.

They spent the littlest bit of resolve they still had within their control ensuring the bed didn’t push onto the walls too hard or they’d cop awkwardness, but it was futile when Roger changed his angle, throwing John further and further away from coherence with every sound he let out.

Within that realm, they loved. And loved hard.

Taylor to Taylor.

Heart to heart. 

Body to body. 

Each deep push, thrust and grapple of their scorching skin came to wash away the memory of those lonely nights.

Lonely and chilling nightmares, chucked out the window with the searing heat and love they made now. 

John let out high-pitched yelp, ready to awaken their sleeping neighbours, surely, tickling the self-conscious side of Roger slightly too hard.

“Shut up a little.” 

He didn’t heed it, but it was hard to register anything anyway, when your lover was steadily laying claim to their rightful place inside you.

“I’ll pull out, if you can’t keep quiet.” His low warning shot a gasp of aroused alarm through the taller man.

"Don't. You. Fucking. Dare." he struggled to speak, brain trying to piece together senses other than the throbbing, rhythmic one from below. 

_Don’t play dirty, Rog._

_Why not, Johnny?_

_Screw you._

The threat still stood, and he smothered the sounds he couldn’t help making with his arm, the least he could do. 

He nearly bit through the warm flesh of his arm as his voice strained, sensing the impending pressure of the length inside him and his own. 

John arched himself further, bringing Roger deeper inside him, walls clutching as they collided, aimed at the perfect spot in a sharp, rapping beat that nailed their desire and had them shaking desperately for more.

_Almost. Almost._

Throwing his body up a final time, he let out a cry into John's shoulder as he thrashed, blinding stars sparking under his eyelids as he let go into the other man. The skin around him tensed, John enraptured as he watched the pleasure that flitted across Roger's face.

Bodies rocked in the finale, dragging out what could be taken, as John sailed through just moments behind him in a dazzling headspin, wetness splashing haphazardly on them as it fell to the sheets. 

One long, exploring, kiss came afterward, connected and basking in the lingering pulse of their slow rolling hips, milking between them the scraps of heat that were left.

Sighing, Roger slid out of him, and they fell away onto the damp sheets, chests rising and falling as they catalogued every touch, sight, smell, taste and sound of what they had just done into their memory.

Aftershocks were left darting throughout them, and if the bed could levitate in overdrive it would have.

Roger disposed of the evidence with a perfect fling to his metal waste bin, if their cries hadn't incriminated themselves already.

Settled back on the bed, the sheets rumpled and pushed away while they lay close, inching forward to touch feather kisses into each other's necks.

"Wow. Just wow." John piped up after some silence.

Roger looked dreamily toward him, "I missed that." 

He stroked John's knuckles, hand atop each other.

"So did I." he voiced, speech tangled with a low, roughened curl, “...John?”

“Yeah?”

“Reckon we’ll need to wash the sheets.” _You messy git!_

“Sure, we’ll be helpful, responsible boys and help your mum out with the chores a little,” he winked.

“Help her by sparing her seeing your bloody mess everywhere, you mean.” 

“I feel attacked.” he pouted.

“Good.” Roger’s snort turned into a full out laugh. 

_Done for, aren’t I? I’ve got it so bad._

The room, cozier than ever, slipped back to silence as they digested their surroundings again. Heady re-acquaintance giving way to a tranquility that enveloped them. 

John turned to his side and inhaled deeply, taking in the scent that remained on his skin, in the air, all around them - a personal heaven they were allowed to reach out and taste after so long. 

“You gave a lot to me tonight, thank you,” Roger looked up to see John looking at him, hand reaching up to stroke his thigh, “ ‘twas bloody fantastic, but you deserve to feel good too.”

_Oh, Johnny._ His insides warmed at suggestion, but he knew he needed a recharge. It had been awhile in real life. 

“No rush, Johnny,” his own next words set off a little spark in him, “ we have a lifetime for you to make me feel good.”

_Lifetime._

John buzzed. 

The word left him giddier, falling over against a shimmering backdrop, than he should’ve been.

A small tug in his arm had him look back up, 

“Will you stay the night?” the question came, Roger waiting for his verdict intently, “You can borrow my clothes.” he gestured to the wardrobe.  
  


The reality of their closeness, here and now, had started to settle in and despite the events of before, Roger grew shy in its blooming wake.

_Roger Andrew Taylor._

_Would I, Nigel John Taylor, stay the night? After being kept away from you for so long?_

_Would I, when your hand is currently gripping mine tight?_

_When you’re staring, breathless, at me like that, universes swirling in that dark brown?_

_When I've been so far away from you all through this shit show of a year?_

_Would I?_

_Would I?!_

He didn’t need to tell Roger what the answer was. Of course he’d stay round. 

The storm that held them back had passed and he would revel in his rainbow. 

Mouthing his lips to the silken hand of golden brown, he spoke of the affirmative.

And then they kissed.

Not the lips of one Taylor, but two.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I love these two so much. 💛


End file.
